te I set eyes on you."

In spite of the trim uniform, the cap and buttons, he seemed cast in a
larger mould than most men of his kind. He was garrulous without
offence, and carried with him some of the atmosphere which only travel
gives. He was more fit, Leigh reflected, to command a ship, or to
crack the whip over six horses from the seat of a stage-coach, than to
pull the bellrope on a Warwick street-car. It was easy enough to
engage him in conversation about the coming election, but more
difficult to arrive at the point he had in mind. He learned that Emmet
had already resigned his place as a conductor to devote his whole time
to the work of the campaign, and he began to appreciate the difficulty
of meeting him naturally. If he went to his boarding-house, he would
doubtless find him away, or not alone. On the whole, considering the
shortness of the time and the different worlds in which they moved, he
decided that he must make his opportunity, rather than wait for it to
come.

"I believe you said that Mr. Emmet boards at your house," he ventured
finally. "In that case, you might do me a little favour, if you will.
The fact is, that I would like very much to make his acquaintance, but
I hesitate to call upon him at random, knowing how busy he is. If he
has a free hour some time, I 'd like to meet him."

"You 'd like to meet him?" the conductor asked shrewdly.

"This is n't politics," Leigh explained, aware of the other's guess,
"and for that reason I want Mr. Emmet to consult his own convenience.
If you 'll give him my card and tell him that we have a common friend
who wishes us to know each other, he may think it worth while to drop
me a postcard and make an appointment. I 'll come to see him any time
he's at liberty."

The conductor stowed the card away in his clothes with a peculiar lurch
of his figure that reminded Leigh once more of his first impression.

"Am I right," he asked, "in guessing that you once followed the sea?"

"Twenty years," the man answered; "and though I 've been ashore as
many, they still call me captain--Captain Tucker. The salt water puts
its stamp on a man for life, don't it? I was reminded of it this
morning when I see in the paper that the Rooshyans had fired on the
Hull fishermen off the Dogger Banks. What a shame that was, wa'n't it?
Why, those fishermen are the most inoffensive fellows in the world.
Many a time when I passed through that sea they 'd throw up a fish on